 | CHAPTER XXVIII. El Fureidîs |  |
28. CHAPTER XXVIII.
The next day was a continued festival in the camp of
Zanadeen. There was no lack of laborious activity among
the Arabs of both sexes, but, except the necessary tasks of
milking the cattle and driving them to pasture, all the
energies of the tribe were expended for the entertainment
of their guests, and the universal enjoyment of the occasion.
The old women in the tents were busily occupied in
making butter, and pounding wheat and spices. The shepherds
were selecting the fattest of their sheep and kids, and
slaying them for the approaching banquet. The young
women were braiding their long hair in innumerable tresses,
and assuming their choicest anklets and rings. The young
men were making preparations for the jeryd, or tournament
with the lance, which was to constitute the chief diversion
of the day.
This latter exercise involved numerous preliminaries.
Horses of endless pedigree must be faultlessly groomed,
fed with dainties, and caparisoned in a style proportioned
to their rank and merits. Silver-embossed bridles must be
polished, slender lances freshly plumed, and the youths
themselves attired in the best outfit their scanty wardrobes
could furnish. Finally, the space in front of the sheik's
tent must be freed from all encumbrances, and the cattle
picketed there removed to the opposite side of the camp,
in order to afford the riders free scope to run their tilt.
Abdoul was the head and front of all these proceedings.
Dressed in a gaudy silk robe surmounted by a richly
embroidered vest, with his feet cased in yellow boots and
the fringed ends of his kefiyeh floating like pennons in the
breeze, the handsome young chieftain curvetted over the
plain upon his white mare, performing various equestrian
exploits, and devoutly believing himself the centre of all
eyes. He had reached his pinnacle of grandeur; and
never had city coxcomb more faith in his own pretensions
than had this vain and ambitious boy in the infallibility of
his daring hopes. He had flung down the gage to his rival,
and already anticipated the triumph. He little dreamed,
poor heir of ignorance and child of conceit! that, while
he was figuring as a picturesque spectacle, his rival was
engrossing the heart of his queen, and winning victories
over all his tribe.
Nor was he the only unconscious and ignorant one;
for the Englishman was as innocent of endeavor and incredulous
of success as the Arab was bold and presuming.
But this grave self-abnegating Englishman had of late
possessed some strange power of winning hearts. He
knew the Bedouin race well; they had been his companions
in many journeys. He spoke their language with
fluency. In the deserts of Mesopotamia and El Hejaz he
had overawed them by his courage, and repressed their
familiarity by his reserve. But it was otherwise now.
He felt an awakening of manly tenderness and compassion
for these errant children of the earth, paupers in all that
is wealth and joy to the civilized man. He had come
among them, too, as a guest, not to bargain for their services,
and resist their encroachments, but to enjoy their hospitality,
and eat their scanty bread. It was a case to arouse his
chivalrous interest and his desire to befriend.
His noble figure and frank countenance had prepossessed
the tribe in his favor from the moment he entered their
camp; the patience with which he had during the evening
listened to their tales of daring exploits had flattered
their self-love, and the stories of modern inventions and
world-renowned discoveries with which he had entertained
them in his turn had taken possession of their excitable
minds, exalted him into a hero, and held the attention of
the group about the watch-fires far into the night.
And now, whether seated outside the sheik's tent or strolling
through the camp, he was followed and surrounded by
an astonished, admiring throng, which, so far from repelling,
he condescended to talk with and entertain.
Nor was he wanting in resources more real and tangible
than those of an eloquent tongue. A miniature opera-glass
which he produced for their inspection transported them
with delight. A pocket compass, whose use he carefully
explained, prompted them to look upon him as a species of
demigod. One of those ingenious articles, which, under
the form of a pocket-knife, contains a dozen of the minor
conveniences of life, caused the curious crowd to
huddle together and gaze upon it with flashing, covetous
eyes. As these things were passed from hand to hand,
many a “Mashallah!” testified their surprise, many an
“Inshallah!” called heaven to witness; and when, with a
profuse generosity for which the Arabs were unprepared,
Meredith bestowed these valuables on the chiefs of the
tribe, and distributed gifts of fire-arms, tobacco, and clothing
among the men of lesser note, their impulsive and
easily-stirred natures were warmed to fever heat. With
a storm of grateful thanks they hailed him as “father of
good fortune,” and so overwhelmed him with flattering expressions
of affection, that he found himself much in the
family to a riot, of which he begins to be ashamed,
but knows not how to quell.
It was a relief, therefore, to his weariness and embarrassment,
when the sound of tambourines, cymbals, and other
rude instruments denoted that the tournament was about
to commence, and that he might be permitted to take a
position with the other guests, and be an undisturbed spectator
of the game.
Only the fresh youth of the tribe had a part in this
military exercise. Mounted on perfectly trained horses, of
which the riders seemed a part, they arranged themselves
in two parallel lines, each youth facing his opponent, and
awaiting a signal to commence the charge. Abdoul, conspicuous
among his companions both for beauty and grace,
was stationed at the extremity of that line which was nearest
to the sheik's tent, and the simple waving of his hand
served throughout the game as a word of command. Only
a single antagonist advanced at the first summons, and was
met by Abdoul in mid-career, both horsemen holding their
lances high above their heads, and causing the thin reeds
to quiver until they seemed like things of life. As the
ambition of each youth was to disarm his adversary, these
lances were the objects of attack. At the first charge, the
thrusts on both sides were unsuccessful. With a rapid
evolution the attempt was resumed, but was in like manner
foiled, one rider bending to his saddle-bow, and holding his
lance close to the ground, the other vaulting upon one side
and sheltering himself and his weapon behind the body
of his horse. Both tiltsmen were skilled in the game;
but, though possessing a formidable adversary, Abdoul triumphed
in sure success, and challenged his comrade with
superb effrontery. The opponent's lance was the prize of
weapon high in the air directly above his combatant's
head, then dart forward, recover it, and dash on at a flying
pace. Again, relying on the unequalled speed of the Khádhere,
he hesitated not to fling his plumed reed in advance of
him with such skill as to plant it upright in the ground.
The game now became a race, but one in which the sheik's
son wsa sure to win. The adversary made but feeble endeavors
to imitate the young chief's daring, satisfied with
acting on the defensive, and striving to take advantage of
the risks which Abdoul run. But to do this was impossible.
Abdoul's skill was only equalled by his wariness, and
at length, in the very moment when he had carried his own
temerity to the utmost, he bounded upon his enemy's lance
and bore it off in triumph.
This act was the signal for fresh lancers to rush into the
mimic warfare, both the conqueror and the conquered demanding
fresh adversaries; and as one after another was
disarmed, and new opponents were called for, the whole
company were gradually admitted into the lists. Thus the
scene became more and more complicated, wild, and exciting.
The old chief and his guests meanwhile watched the
progress of the game, their eyes instinctively following Abdoul,
who, acting under the inspiration of Havilah's presence,
appeared to be endued with magic powers. He was
everywhere in the thickest of the mêlée, the tall plumes
of his lance towering above those of his comrades. So
wonderful and rapid were the feats he performed, that
sometimes he knelt, sometimes stood aloft in the saddle,
sometimes seemed for a second to be suspended from the
Khádhere by his wiry hand or the hollow sole of his foot,
which clung as it were by magnetic attraction. Occasionally
again upon the back of the animal, who apparently understood
and aided her master's manœuvre. One after another
his antagonists were discomfited and disarmed, but in no
case was Abdoul baffled or his lance wrested from him. It
was evident to the most careless observer, that the chief's
son was the unrivalled victor in the contest.
But, however interested the spectators might be in the
game and its actors, the scene was after all monotonous;
and, being prolonged for an unreasonable length of time,
the attention of the group around the tent was gradually
diverted. Questioned by the old sheik, who had all the
Arab's curiosity, Meredith was led to speak of the military
exercises of his own people. From this he had passed to
tales of actual warfare, and the battles and sieges of the
Crimea (recent horrors then) had been recounted for the
chieftain's benefit. With open-mouthed wonder the veteran
Arab had drunk in these wonderful narrations. The soul-stirring
charge of the Light Brigade, so different from the
feigned attacks and artificial forays of Arab life, had impressed
him with thoughtful reverence. The recollection of
these events had power, too, over the mind of the narrator.
Tender memories, ruptured friendships, private griefs,
were associated in Meredith's mind with the catastrophes
he was describing; and, turning to Havilah, who had stood
beside him, not the least attentive of his audience, he appealed
to her woman's sympathies in behalf of the desolate
homes and broken hearts of England.
She was leaning on his arm. He held an umbrella above
her head to shield her from the sun. Either the possession
of this article, or some other tacitly assumed claim, had constituted
him her protector amid this wild scene. Perhaps
this familiar relation, perhaps a growing faith in her friendship,
days, for he talked to her of noble schoolfellows slain, and
wives and mothers bereaved, as if he realized that they two
had known sorrow, and pity had upon them a peculiar claim.
It was at this moment,—when Meredith spoke softly of
the dead, unconsciously revealing his own desolation, and
Havilah looked up at him with dewy eye, pitying the strangers
much, but her friend more,—when, unobserved by
them both, the tournament had ended, and the circle around
the tent dispersed,—that Abdoul galloped up on his white
mare, like some knight of old, coming to find his guerdon of
praise in those smiles which had so often cheered and encouraged
the lesser exploits of his boyhood. He did not
approach the tent from the front, but came up on one side;
the mare stepped so daintily that her footfall was unnoticed;
the umbrella too interposed between its owner and the boy,
until the latter had dismounted and come forward, lance in
hand, ready to plant the victorious weapon at Havilah's feet.
Such was evidently the youth's intention; but it was not
fulfilled. A glance at her and her companion, alone and
mutually engrossed, was enough to change the countenance
and purpose of the excited victor. His smile of
triumph gave place to a fierce scowl; he grasped his lance
with a savage gesture; he stood still with compressed
lips, and eyes that would have committed murder if they
could.
Havilah started and colored like a detected criminal. She
saw at once that the demon had again taken possession of
the boy, and with haste she strove to exorcise it. It was
too late, however. Her “Bravely done, Abdoul!” was
hardly spoken, her hand scarcely outstretched in token of
congratulation, before the youth had darted round the tent,
with difficulty repressing a menacing gesture, and followed
her heels disdainfully, as if resenting some insult offered to
her master.
“Strange, whimsical fellow!” exclaimed Meredith, with
mingled amusement and compassion. “In my country he
would be a subject for the mad-house; but here in the desert
they are all wild men. He has disturbed you, though,”
continued the young man, anxiously. “I thought Abdoul
had been too much of a courtier for that,—too considerate
a host! But do not regard his sudden freaks; I have found
him an amiable savage in the main. The heat is becoming
too severe for you on this side the tent; will you go
in?”
Havilah, flushed and agitated, replied readily in the
affirmative, it being her chief desire now to escape from
the presence of Meredith, lest her continuing in his society
should still further whet the jealous wrath of Abdoul.
The tournament was succeeded by a banquet, the principal,
indeed the only formal meal of the day. The fare
consisted of boiled mutton served with rice, huge platters
of dates, with pyramids of snowy butter in the centre, flat
wheaten cakes, transparent honey, and, in addition to these
ordinary articles of diet, a roasted kid, stuffed with a paste
made of pistachio-nuts, raisins, almonds, bread-crumbs,
pepper, and salt, a luxury the preparation of which had
taxed all the skill of the best cook of the tribe. This entertainment
was partaken of by the men alone, females
being by custom excluded. But this circumstance did not
prevent Abdoul from finding in the occasion further food
for his wrath and suspicion,—a sort of food for which his
appetite was more keen, than for all the dainties of the
banquet.
The compliments and ceremonials of a Bedouin feast are
plunging the hand into a common dish, and tearing the meat
apart with the fingers, is sufficiently objectionable; but a
guest's forbearance is still further tested by the necessity of
receiving with a good grace the choice morsels which are
pressed upon him by hands that are none of the cleanliest.
Meredith would gladly have dispensed with the surfeit of
titbits with which he was especially distinguished; but while
he secretly loathed the rice-balls and fleshy morsels stretched
out to him by greasy fingers from every quarter, Abdoul,
seated in the outskirts of the convivial circle, saw in these
and similar civilities tokens of the defection of his whole
tribe to the enemy. Every flashing eye, fixed in admiring
reverence upon the Englishman, was like a spark striking
upon the tinder of the boy's vindictive passions. There was
a mine of inflammable matter underneath, waiting only to be
ignited; but the explosion did not come yet.
Twilight stole upon the banquet, and gray evening soon
enfolded the camp. Watch-fires were now lighted, and the
circle of white-robed Bedouins, seated in front of Zanadeen's
tent, looked ghastly in the glare. Their brilliant black eyes
reflected the fire-light, and gleamed like a ring of miniature
lamps. The goat's-hair hangings in front of the tent were
looped up so that the wives and female guests of the sheik
had a full view of the scene, of which they now became a
part. Camel furniture and saddles heaped against the posts of
the tent afforded comfortable seats to Havilah and Geita, as
well as to M. Lapierre and M. Trefoil, who, in order that they
might enjoy this luxury, had retreated within the shelter of
the awning. Meredith threw himself upon the carpet, just
outside the entrance and nearly opposite to Havilah, who
was at the outermost extremity of one angle of the primitive
dwelling. Both were in such a position that their faces
honor just beside his father, was seated with his back to the
flame, and his countenance was in deep shadow.
The sheik had still one entertainment in reserve for his
visitors, and he now made haste to announce it.
“O men of Lebanon! and thou, O most excellent Frank!”
said he, at the same time endeavoring by an authoritative
gesture to silence the hum of guttural voices about him, that
he might make his little oration intelligible,—“ye have
heard our tales of war and foray, ye have seen our most
nobly descended mares, ye have witnessed the skill and
horsemanship of our young men. Know, then, that our
tribe has still one more excellence to boast. The sons of
Kahtan have ever been skilled in song; we have among us
a Bedouin of pure blood, whose mouth drops pearls. Come
forth, then, O poet, rival of Antar, and recite a song in honor
of our noble and well-beloved guests.”
Thus summoned, a young Arab of handsome features and
imaginative expression of countenance emerged from the
swarthy ring, drew a rubahah, or one-stringed guitar, from
beneath his gracefully falling abayah, and, seating himself
in the midst of his listeners, commenced the prelude to his
ballad.
The instrument afforded but little variety, and the musician's
execution was rude; still the positive, monotonous,
wiry sounds which he extracted from the single string were
not without melodious effect, and were a fitting preparation
for the singular chant which ensued.
The bard being a species of improvvisatore, and his verse
impromptu, his audience were wholly unprepared for the
following rhapsody, which was accompanied by various expressive
gestures, addressed to him who was the subject of
the song.
“I have seen the son of the West,—the man of the strong limb and
generous heart.
“He has come from the distant isles of the sea, and the children of
the Orient welcome him as the `Father of good fortune.'
Why lingerest thou on the mountain and in the desert?
A soft breath from afar hath lured thee hither.
Two dove-like eyes are the double spell that binds thee.
“Thy heart is as tender as it is radiant. Thou art strong for love
as for war.
“Like a lion wounded by a lance is the strong heart which love
hath pierced.
“Torment thyself not, O strong heart! There is a cure for thy
wound.
Send peace, O Allah! to the son of the stranger:
Thy faithful children invoke thee to his aid.”
The musician prolonged the last note of his song until
the circle around him, who understood the hint, caught
up the words of his invocation to Allah, and repeated them
in enthusiastic chorus, waving their hands above their
heads, and making the desert ring with their deep nasal
voices.
Meredith, who at the very commencement of the chant
had been manifestly annoyed by its personal character, put
a more severe constraint upon himself as it proceeded,
avoided meeting any one's eye, and took refuge in feigning
an imperfect comprehension of the meaning and intention
of the song. But even this secret embarrassment was soon
lost in sympathy for the still greater confusion and distress
of her to whom the succeeding stanzas were addressed; for
as soon as silence ensued, the poet turned towards Havilah,
and sung thus:—
Take pity, also, on thyself.
“Thy beautiful eyes are cast down, O Lebanon maid! lest their
stolen glances should betray thee; but the poet who sings of love can
read the signs of its torment.
“He sees how, at the voice of the Frank, thy breast flutters like the
breast of the dove who hears afar off the voice of her mate. Silence
not the yearning within thee.
Then shall ye both be blest.
Then will the children of the desert rejoice
In the joy of the fair youth and the dark-haired maid.”
Once more the self-satisfied poet dwelt on the last syllable.
Once more the susceptible crowd gathered voice for a
rapturous chorus. But they were interrupted. A fierce
cry, like that of some wild beast, — a frantic bound, — and
the rubahah was snatched from the hand of the startled
bard, its solitary string was snapped in twain, the instrument
itself dashed in pieces on the ground, and Abdoul,
wrapping his cloak over his face, strode beyond the boundaries
of the circle, and disappeared in the darkness.
A fearful hubbub succeeded. The excitable Bedouins
instantly sprung to their feet, grasped their weapons, and
glared in the direction the youth had taken. Sheik Zanadeen,
incensed and mortified at so manifest a breach of decorum
on the part of his son, made haste to apologize to his
guests, his clouded and anxious brow at the same time indicating
no slight degree of parental anxiety. The circle of
Arabs drew off in groups, and stood at a distance gesticulating
and chattering, their fierce faces and attitudes looking
fiercer in the firelight, and indicating their contempt and
indignation at the discourteous and inhospitable behavior
of the young chief.
Meredith received the sheik's apology in dignified silence.
He knew the impetuous character of the people with whom
he had to deal, and felt that it became him to manifest a
would keep alive that respect which is the traveller's safeguard.
Havilah also participated in this view of the case. Her
head, bowed in maidenly shame during the progress of the
song, had been suddenly buried in her hands as she witnessed
the wrath of Abdoul, and her whole frame had trembled
with agitation. With proud composure, however, she
now rose, placed her arm in that of M. Lapierre, made a
respectful salutation to Zanadeen, and under the old pastor's
protection withdrew to her tent.
It naturally fell to M. Trefoil to conciliate all parties.
This was the kind-hearted man's natural province, and he
but acted out his impulses in playing the part of a pacificator,
professing himself confident of the sheik's friendship,
and assuring him of Meredith's disposition to overlook any
personal slight.
As Meredith's severity was but a pretence of anger, as
he was in reality far more vexed with the indiscreet poet
who had put Havilah to the blush, than with the miscreant
youth who had interrupted the song, the humbled sheik had
no difficulty in appeasing his English guest, and mutual expressions
of good-will were at once exchanged.
But it was neither politic nor possible to revive the social
character of the occasion; the mortified Bedouins made no
attempt to reunite in conversational circles, and at a comparatively
early hour the camp was silent, and its dwellers
scattered to their respective tents.
| CHAPTER XXVIII. El Fureidîs | |